


Only One

by Ceia



Series: Committed to the Crime [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Requited Unrequited Love, Smut, UFO catchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-09 00:42:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13470075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceia/pseuds/Ceia
Summary: Junkrat is having a bad day at work. Luckily, Mercy is around to make him feel better. Well... sort of.





	Only One

**Author's Note:**

> This is set between chapters 6 and 7 of my main Mercyrat fic, Built of Metal, because I thought it would be fun to offer Junkrat's perspective on things!

* * *

  
  
Junkrat is not a morning person.

His job, however, requires him to leave the house by 8:20am every day, so he has five alarms set on his phone to try and get out of bed with enough time to wake up and have breakfast before he goes. Usually he’s up by the second alarm, already squinting at the bright glare of his home screen when it goes off at 7:59. Sometimes he’ll wake with a start from the fourth at 8:08, with just enough time to get his shit together before heading out the door.

“Rat. _Rat_.”

Other times, like today, Junkrat sleeps through all five of them, which means that they’re probably going to be late.

“Get up,” Roadhog says, from behind his bedroom door. “Time to go.”

It isn’t the booming voice that wakes him up but the heart-stopping bang on his door that follows, and Junkrat grimaces from being so rudely wrenched from his dreams.

“Ain’t it Saturday?” he shouts back, voice cracking. He swats the empty space beside him with his left hand to try and find his phone. It’s gotten lost between the sheets, so he feels for the vibration as it buzzes with the endless ringing of his fifth alarm.

“No,” Roadhog answers. “It’s Thursday. Get the fuck out of bed.”

Junkrat finds it, mashing his thumb over the screen until the alarm is silenced while he tries to open his eyes. He doesn’t have any alarms set over the weekend meaning that unfortunately Roadhog is right, so he shoves off his bedding and hauls himself over the edge, reaching down to swipe his arm and leg off the floor so he can engage himself and throw on some clothes.

“Thought it was Saturday,” he grumbles, still rubbing his eyes when Roadhog is locking the front door. It’s sunny outside, temperature decent enough for a late-September morning in London.

“We’re gonna be late,” Roadhog says. Junkrat laughs.

“So what? It’s only training, s’not like it matters.”

“No training today. Meeting instead.”

“What? No there ain’t.”

“Check your emails,” Roadhog says. “Video conference with Vishkar.”

This doesn’t ring any bells. Junkrat pulls out his phone and opens up his work inbox, scowling when he sees that there is, indeed, a video conference all morning with Vishkar. In his defence, he’s not fully awake yet and only had time to chug down a glass of milk before Roadhog was shoving him out the door, so he’s not really in the right frame of mind to be remembering shit like this when he hasn’t even had breakfast. There are a few other emails sitting in his inbox—meeting with Winston on Friday, some communication sent out from finance about a new contract they’ve won—but nothing he considers important, so Junkrat leaves them unread.

They walk down the street and towards the station—Angel, fittingly enough. As the underground sign comes into view Junkrat brightens, grinning as he checks the attendees for the conference. Doesn’t look like any of the Japanese team are in on this one, though. He huffs, shoving his phone back into the pocket on his shorts. Roadhog glances down at him.

“No texts?”

Junkrat shakes his head. “She’s probably still at work.”

“Ah.”

The station is busy with commuters on their way into central. Junkrat is used to the stares they attract heading down to the platform, and enjoys the frightened looks from the suits who jolt out of the way to accommodate both of them on any given train. Roadhog is too big for the seats so they always stand up, and as the carriage doors slide shut Junkrat grabs the pole overhead and closes his eyes, hoping to get some microsleep on their brief journey to headquarters.

He doesn’t normally get a text from her until he’s at work, but his phone vibrates when they’re a couple of stops in. Junkrat grins down at the photo on his home screen—a boba tea shop she must be walking past with the others—and swipes his thumb over the keys to type out his response.

_You’ve finished early lol treating yourself to some boba?_

_Yes, 5pm finish for a change,_ Angela replies. _Just passing by, we’re too hungry to stop._

_Aww should get yourself one for me haha :P_

_Which one would you recommend?_

_Hmmmm can’t beat plain milk tea_

_When I’ve tried it before it’s been a little too sugary for me, sadly._

_You can get half sweet lol like me_

_Oh, I wouldn’t say you’re half sweet. ;)_

The carriage comes to a stop. Junkrat’s grinning down at his phone like an idiot when Roadhog nudges him off the train. It’s such a treat to hear from her this early that he wants to make the most of it, but he’s done this journey so many times his body moves automatically anyway, blindly following behind Roadhog across the platform to their connecting stop.

_Lol well then what would you say I am Miss Mercy? ;)_

It takes her a moment to reply, as he expected. Junkrat snickers when it comes through.

_51% sweet. ;)_

_Hahaha is that all?! I am EXTREMELY offended!!!!_

_Okay, okay. Perhaps… 60%. On a good day. ;)_

She’s gotten pretty good at this, he thinks. Bloody tease.

_Lol how generous of you :P_

_I’m surprised you like plain milk tea though,_ Angela writes. _Seems a little… well, plain, for you._

_I like lots of different flavours lol depends on my mood. Could go for some white peach right now though ;)_

His thumb hovers above return. Christ, he wouldn’t think twice about this if it was anyone else, but with her it’s impossible to tell what’s too much. After a moment, Junkrat deletes the second half of his sentence.

_I like lots of different flavours lol depends on my mood ;)_

Better, he supposes. Junkrat sends this off, waiting to see the dots appear. They don’t take as long as he thought.

_Then I’ll have to try it again. :)  And other flavours too._

Sigh. Good thing he toned it down after all.

_I’ll treat ya sometime :P_

_Hmm. That would increase your sweetness to 61%._

He laughs at this, a stifled snort that makes Roadhog look down at him.

“She’s being fuckin’ cute,” Junkrat says. Roadhog just sighs, looking away again.

_Impossible to please you are :P_

_I’m only kidding. :)_

_Lol I know  
But yeah we should grab some boba when you’re back haha_

_We should, and will!_

There are lots of things we should do, Junkrat thinks, wants to write. Once again though, he keeps it to himself, something he’s gotten pretty good at since they started texting like this.

 _Where you gonna eat now then? Ramen place?_ he writes. Their train has stopped. Signal failure as always on this bloody underground system, so they’re going to be even later. Ah well, least he’s got good company while they wait.

_Okonomiyaki restaurant tonight. We’re almost there._

Or not, Junkrat thinks. Fucking timezones.

_Shit been years since I had that lol  
Send us some pics won’t you :P_

_Of course. I’ll text you later. :)_

_Haha alright enjoy your dinner :P_

Junkrat’s still grinning when they’re stepping off the train, thinking about white peaches as they walk up the steps to headquarters. Any contact from her outside their normal hours is a welcome surprise but the added bonus of some flirting will be enough to keep him going through the shitty meeting they’ve got this morning, even though he’s so tired he’d really rather crawl back into bed and have a wank. Amazing how little it takes these days. Her bloody fault.

They’re twenty minutes late. Junkrat doesn’t think this is too bad but judging by the look on everyone’s faces when they peer into the conference room they may as well have started world war three. He tiptoes over to an empty seat, Roadhog grabbing the one beside it.

“Sorry,” Junkrat whispers, loudly. “Just, er—pretend we’re not here!”

Ana and Jack turn to face the videofeed again. Tracer’s glaring at him, all unimpressed with her arms folded. Junkrat glares back when he sits down before his attention is drawn to the Indian woman on the videofeed, projected onto the conference room wall and also glaring at him.

“Junkrat, Roadhog, this is Symmetra—Miss Satya Vaswani,” Winston says. “Our point of contact in Vishkar.”

“G’day,” Junkrat says. Roadhog nods at her.

“Greetings,” Symmetra sniffs. She doesn’t look impressed either despite being thousands of miles away.

“Think we might need a brief recap for these two,” Jack says.

“Yes, let’s start from the top,” Winston sighs, shuffling his notes.

Junkrat feels even less awake now than he did on the train, and leans back in his chair as Winston recaps the last twenty minutes of discussion they’ve missed. He tries to listen, he really does, but Winston droning on about business this and corporate that reminds him of his induction. Back then it was a struggle to listen for laughing because he found it so hilarious to be lectured on health and safety protocols by a talking gorilla. Now that he’s used to Winston it’s just tedious, an excuse to zone out while his arse goes numb in this stiff chair. Really should’ve grabbed something to eat before he left, though. They’ve got hours to go til lunch and he’s starving.

“Anyway, Satya, as you were saying before?” Ana says, suddenly. Junkrat sits upright in his seat again, disappointed to see that it’s only 9:45 when he looks up at the clock.

“Yes, as I was saying. Our research would indicate that…”

Symmetra’s pleasant voice fills the conference room, and Junkrat’s mind wanders elsewhere—namely to the other woman who’s currently thousands of miles away, as it usually does whenever he’s bored. Meetings are a great excuse to get him out of training and away from Tracer’s barked orders, but the texts he’s just exchanged with Angie have left him frustrated and there’s dick all he can do to keep himself occupied while he’s stuck in this one. If she was here he could play a bit of footsie with her, text her from beneath the table to pass the time. Ask if she wanted to go out for boba on their lunchbreak, buy her honeydew melon or some other flavour to try. She’d probably like something like that.

Seeing as he can’t do any of those things, Junkrat sits with his chin propped up in his metal hand, eyes glazing over as the conversation sinks into business. He wonders what she’s wearing today. Probably a white blouse and black skirt. Heels, obviously, just the right height. Classy but sexy like the rest of her, with her hair in a ponytail too, like always.

Junkrat shifts in his seat. Angie will be hot out there, won’t cope well in Japan’s humid summer. He can picture her fanning herself while sitting at her desk like she did when he was fixing the aircon units at her place. Maybe she’ll have an extra button undone on her blouse today. It’s a great image, but Junkrat sort of hopes she doesn’t at the same time, frowning as he thinks about her sitting with Genji and McCree while they’re eating dinner together.

How long has it been now? Six, seven weeks since she was deployed? Feels like a lot longer than that. A fucking lot longer when he’s sitting here bored out of his mind, being subjected to a bunch of jargon that gives no indication of when she’s going to be coming home. Part of him wishes he’d sabotaged those bloody aircon units, maybe scored himself an invitation to stay longer and see what might’ve happened if he had. Angie’s always so composed that it’s fun remembering her all hot and sweaty like she was that day. What’s even more fun to think about, though, is how hot and sweaty _he_ could get her given the chance, see what she’d look like pinned beneath him, hair tugged out of that ponytail and splayed over his pillow instead.

Fuck. He’s getting hard. The only good thing about training is that there’s no chance of this happening, even if it means getting shouted at by that whiny British twat. Junkrat wishes it was Saturday already so he could’ve stayed in bed and just jerked it for a while, though he’s got that to look forward to. Hopefully she’ll be around on Saturday morning. Might give her a call, listen to that silky voice of hers for a change if she is.

Junkrat’s eyes close as Symmetra talks over some data, willing time to go faster. At least come lunchtime he’ll be able to stretch his legs and get something to eat. And text her, of course. Maybe his dick won’t be so hard by then.

“Junkrat!”

“Whuh—what!” he shouts, startled awake. Everyone in the room is staring at him. Shit, he must’ve dozed off.

“Can you please pay attention?” Winston says, scowling. “We could really use your input here.”

“Gotcha,” Junkrat says, groggy as he straightens up again. He wipes his mouth, drool having spilled out into his metal palm. The clock says it’s only 10:07. He hoped it would be later than that, that he’d managed to get away with sleeping for a couple of hours right here in the middle of this fucking meeting. Probably best concentrate before he attracts more attention to himself, anyway.

The meeting is tiresome. Junkrat checks in and out of it, nodding when he needs to nod and agreeing when anything is suggested. He isn’t even sure why he and Roadhog were brought into this one because it doesn’t directly involve either of them, and when Winston finally starts wrapping things up he’s fucking starving, needs something to eat.

“Ah—Junkrat, would you mind staying behind for a few minutes, please?” Winston asks, when everyone’s finally standing up to leave. Junkrat frowns.

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

Roadhog nods at him, a silent acknowledgement that he’ll wait outside. The other agents file out of the room and a bad feeling creeps over him when it’s just him and Winston left. If this is another telling off, it had better be quick.

Winston pulls out a chair beside him, gesturing for Junkrat to come and sit. He does, grudgingly.

“What’s this about then?” he asks. “Thought we had a meeting tomorrow.”

Winston closes his laptop and turns to Junkrat with a concerned look on his face.

“We have, but I think it’s better to address the matter here and now. Is everything alright?”

Junkrat blinks. “Uh. Yeah?” he says, confused. “Think so.”

“I mean at home. Is there anything going on that we need to know about?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Junkrat laughs. Winston frowns.

“Then may I please ask what’s making you late and fall asleep like that in the middle of our meetings? Not only is it rude, it’s embarrassing for us as an organization when our agents aren’t professional enough to bother keeping their eyes open.”

Ugh, not this conversation _again._ Junkrat folds his arms, bracing himself. He meets Winston’s eyes with a frown of his own.

“I set m’self five bloody alarms in the morning! Not much more I can do than that.”

“Is that also your excuse for why you’re performing so poorly in training?”

"She keeps giving us bloody—target practice to do! With guns!” Junkrat says, throwing his arms up.

“Yes, and you keep talking back to her,” Winston says.

“Are we _really_ gonna go through this again?” Junkrat groans, rubbing his right hand over his face. “Tracer hates me.”

I hate her too, he thinks, but he knows better than to tell Winston that. It’s true he’s probably picked more fights with her than he should have, but when Tracer is so obsessed with picking apart every little thing he does in training—every accidentally broken window and ruined piece of equipment—he can’t be expected to just stand there and take it. Not when she’s such a smarmy bitch about it, telling him off like he’s a fucking child.

“She doesn’t hate you,” Winston counters. “She’s frustrated that she’s trying to help you and being met with—abrasion.”

“Didn’t come here to learn how to shoot,” Junkrat huffs. Winston sighs.

“No, Junkrat, you came here because it’s a brilliant opportunity, and it saddens me that you seem bent on wasting it like this.”

“Tch.” Junkrat sits back in his chair and turns his attention to the wall. The reason why he joined Overwatch is actually none of Winston’s business, but it certainly isn’t because it’s a _brilliant opportunity._

“You’ve cost the company more in damages in the last month than we’ve had on record for the last year,” Winston says. Junkrat smirks at this, but Winston shakes his head, takes his glasses off and rubs his temples.

“I wish I found it so amusing, but when I’m the one having to find excuses for you all the time I’m afraid it isn’t funny.”

“S’what training is for, ain’t it?” Junkrat asks, trying not to sound too smug. “Making mistakes n’all that?”

“What I want to know is—what’s happened?” Winston asks back. “Torbjörn is pleased with your performance in engineering. Angela was pleased with your performance when she was the one training you. Are you sure that nothing has happened to warrant this sudden change in your behaviour? Because I’m struggling to believe it’s simply down to you and Tracer not getting along.”

Junkrat purses his lips. Yeah, something happened alright, he thinks. The only person I looked forward to seeing in this fucking place got sent five thousand miles away.  

“Well?” Winston says, waiting for him to say something. Junkrat scratches his head, stomach burning from being put on the spot. He’s still looking away, doesn’t want to face Winston right now.

“Don’t see the point in trying when everyone has a go at me even when I do,” he says, though what he really means is that there’s no point in trying when there’s nobody here who’s worth my time anymore.

Winston looks at him for a long moment before putting his glasses back on.

“Then you’ve left me no choice but to give you a formal warning,” he says, yanking Junkrat’s attention back to him.

“A formal warning?!”

“Yes, that’s right. From now on you’re going to be monitored, and you’ll need to report to me regularly so we can assess your performance.”

Junkrat gapes at him. Is this a joke?

“So you’re essentially punishing me because I can’t aim for shit?!” he laughs, incredulous. Winston is opening his laptop again, starts typing on a document. Junkrat leans over to see that it’s a _Performance Improvement Plan_ and already has all of his personal information written into it, like this was planned before he turned up late and fell asleep today.

“We’re not punishing you because you can’t aim,” Winston says. “We’re trying to help you improve because your attitude and behaviour needs to change. If it doesn’t, then you’ll be facing further disciplinary action.”

Junkrat scowls. “Y’mean kicking me out,” he says.

“I’m hoping it won’t come to that,” Winston says. He sounds like he might mean it, but Junkrat knows better than to believe he does. “You’d be facing suspension, certainly, in addition to compensating some of the damages, which would come out of your salary. But dismissal is a possibility down the line if we see no improvement.”

Fuck’s sake. Junkrat grits his teeth, wanting to punch the table, the laptop, Winston’s fucking face. Every time this has happened until now he’s had an argument, some way of defending himself against this. But he’s got nothing this time. Just has to sit here taking it. Like a child. Again.

“Is—is everyone gonna know about this?” Junkrat asks, while Winston types.

“It is between yourself, HR and your line manager—meaning me,” he answers. “Nobody else will know, and I would advise against sharing it around.”

“No need to tell me that,” Junkrat scoffs. Obviously he’ll tell Roadhog, but there’s absolutely no way he can let Angie find out about this.

“Alright. I’m sorry, Junkrat, but I’m afraid you’ve really forced my hand this time. I can only make so many excuses, and today was humiliating, quite frankly.”

Humiliating. Junkrat rolls his head back and lets out a short breath of a laugh. Winston doesn’t have a clue what it means to be humiliated. Falling asleep during a fucking meeting doesn’t even come close.

“Whatever the problem is, you’re going to need to start sorting it out,” Winston sighs. “For now, we’ll help you as much as we can.”

I don’t need your help, Junkrat thinks, bitterly. There’s only one thing I need right now and it sure as shit isn’t in this room with you.

They have to stay for a while to fill out some forms and mark out regular meetings for the foreseeable future. He’s in a foul mood when he’s allowed to leave but he can’t even slam the door shut because Winston follows him out. Junkrat prickles, as irritated by the lumbering footsteps behind him as he is by everything else Winston does, everything he is—and then he spots Roadhog waiting for him in the corridor. Roadhog lifts his head up slightly, asking what happened without saying a word.

“Formal warning,” Junkrat says, storming over to him. “Might lead to a disciplinary, might not, whatever the fuck that entails. Gotta spend the next god knows how many weeks meeting up with him and it’s all going on my record.”

Roadhog hums like he isn’t surprised by this. “What’re you gonna do?” he asks.

Junkrat stuffs his hands in his pockets, scowling down at the floor while they walk. Best to shove it aside for the moment, seeing as there’s nothing he can do. So long as Angie doesn’t find out, he can deal with it. For now he needs something to eat.

“Dunno,” he mutters. “Too fucked off with it all right now to think. Just wanna get some lunch.”

Junkrat feels better when he’s finally got some food, sitting at one of the benches in the cafeteria while he demolishes a burger. He wipes the back of his left hand over his mouth to catch the ketchup smears, and then he’s pulling his phone out, catching up on all his notifications. There are several he can’t open until later on when he’ll be back in the privacy of his bedroom, but he’s more excited about the three messages that’ve come through from Mercy anyway, the name she’s under in his contacts list.

She’s sent him two photos and a text. One of the photos is of her meal, which does look tasty, but the other is far more interesting. It’s of her—her and D.va sitting next to each other in a restaurant, so the guys must’ve been on the other side of their table. Good.

Junkrat zooms in a little to centre the image. He was right about the blouse at least, white and crisp and unbuttoned enough to keep her chest cool without having everything on show. Some of his anger melts away seeing her smiling face. She looks happy. Fucking gorgeous, too, as ever.

 _Hey. :) How’s your day going?_ Angie’s written, when he checks their messages. She should still be around even though he and Roadhog are in the cafeteria much later than usual today, so he replies quickly.

_Yeah alright thanks lol had a meeting earlier with Symmetra_

_Oohh, Satya? Is she visiting HQ?_

_No no video conference_

_I haven’t seen her in a long time! What was the meeting about?_

Junkrat’s immediate good mood from talking to Angie wanes reading this. He really doesn’t want to get into the meeting and everything that followed—wants to forget it happened, focus on her instead.

_Nothing too exciting lol  
Anyway I wanna know what you’re up to :P you still out?_

_No, back home. Apparently we’re going to a convention this weekend!_

_Lol what, for business?_

_No, an actual convention. You know, for all those comics and games you like so much. ;)_

Holy fuck. He’s told her plenty about all the stupid shit he’s into, but Junkrat didn’t think Angie was into that sorta thing herself. She’s arty at least, likes drawing and painting when she’s got time. Told him she took some calligraphy classes the last time she was in Japan. Junkrat never imagined a woman like her would go anywhere near a convention, though.

_Bloody hell you never said you were a nerd as well!!!!_

_I am in certain ways. :) But it’s more that Jesse and I are going along for the ride. Hana wanted to go and Genji suggested we join her as a fun group outing. I think the two of them are going to cosplay._

Junkrat sits back in his seat. That makes more sense, but it’s still pretty exciting that she’s entertaining the idea of going somewhere like that. That she knows what cosplay means, even.

_Oh right haha what characters are they going as?_

_Unfortunately I couldn’t tell you. Genji’s dressing up in a sentai suit and Hana’s going as a magical girl, something you might like._

Junkrat wrinkles his nose. As if.

 _No thanks lol  
You gonna get dressed up too? _  he asks, mostly for a laugh. Angie’s probably a bit too sensible to wear costumes.

_I’d love to, but the only costumes I have are sitting at home. :(_

Junkrat’s eyebrows lift up.

_You have costumes???_

_I do! I love dressing up. Our PR team used to commission different outfits for us to wear for advertisements – variations of our regular suits and such._

_You serious???_

_I am indeed serious. I’ve got a Viking style suit, witch robes with a broom. My favourite is a Grecian style dress because they made some feathered wings to go with it._

Well. He definitely wasn’t expecting this. Miss Mercy just gets better and better.

_Hooooly shit!!!  
You have GOT to show me sometime when you’re home hahaha _

_I’ll see if I can dig them out. :) You never know, if we’re back in time for Halloween I could wear one then._

All the outfits she’s described sound great, but Junkrat can instantly think of at least five different costumes he’d like to see her in. Not that he’d want her to wear them when she’s with the others. Or in public at all, for that matter.

_Shoulda taken some with you :P could always just buy one out there so you can join in_

_I hadn’t considered that, but I doubt I’ll have time as we’re going on Saturday._

_Lol I’m sure there’ll be plenty of opportunities in future  
Think you’re gonna get some manga while you’re there? Be a nerd like me? ;)_

_Perhaps! Jesse and I will probably go for coffee while they’re inside the convention center. If you wanted me to look out for anything in there for you, let me know. :)_

Shit. That tugs right at his bloody heart. Isn’t it enough that she’s beautiful? That she fucking—gives him the time of day at all? S’like she does everything in her power to make being away from her so much fucking harder than it has any right to be. Junkrat sighs.

_If I think of anything I’ll letcha know :P thanks tho!  
You excited??_

_I am, yes! It makes a nice change to be honest. Plus I’ll get to see exactly the sort of things you’re into. ;)_

_I’ll have you know I am into many, many things Angie ;)_

_Are you now?_

Oh, you have _no_ idea, Junkrat thinks, smirking.

_Yeah lol some things more than others though ;)_

She doesn’t type back immediately this time. It can take Angie a while to respond to things like this, but he knows it might be due to it being late over there. He’s tempted to ask what she’s doing right now—getting undressed for bed, under the covers already. Having a bath. Junkrat still hasn’t gotten over that one, when he’d called her after his meeting with Torb a couple of weeks ago and she was apparently fresh out of the bath. Milky skin all flushed, long legs slightly bent, hair damp and tousled. Maybe even touching herself, trying to unwind after a busy day holed up in her office. Angie in the bath is a mental image he refers to often, a tasty morsel she’d offered unintentionally that’s somehow been enough for him to whack one out many times since. Christ, he really needs to get laid.

 _I guess costumes and conventions rank quite highly for you?_ Angie writes, having finally replied.

_Haha weeeell they’re up there  
Nowhere near the top though_

_I dread to think of what’s at number one. ;) Anyway, I need to get some sleep._

Augh. She always has to go to bed just as they get to the good shit. Junkrat doesn’t understand how she seems to need an entire working day to loosen up enough to flirt with him. He wishes she didn’t dance around like this, leave doubts niggling at him when it seems so obvious that she’s keen, but when this is their only contact he’ll take whatever he can get. Doesn’t make it any easier though. Bloody woman.

_Gahh alright! Text me when you’re awake :P  
Sweet dreams Angie x_

_Will do. Goodnight Junkrat, enjoy the rest of your day x_

Junkrat blows out a long breath, breaking out of his private fantasyland with Mercy to look up at the busy cafeteria around him. Roadhog’s just coming back from the vending machine with a couple of cans in hand, and he drops heavily onto the other side of the table, passing one over.

“Cheers mate,” Junkrat says, cracking it open with his right hand.

“Better?” Roadhog asks, opening his own. Junkrat shrugs.

“Not really. Just wanna go home now to be honest. Sick of being here.”

It’s great talking to Angie and having her in his pocket like this, but it’s incredibly frustrating too. If she was here in real life she wouldn’t be able to dance away from him like she does, blueball him by going so far only to hesitate and step back. Still, at least he hasn’t needed to worry about hiding his little chat with Winston from her. Probably the only thing texting is good for—providing a barrier to hide behind when he’s so terrible at lying in real life.

With lunch over Roadhog returns to his training and Junkrat catches the elevator up to engineering. His brief chat with Angie isn’t enough to sustain him after the morning, so he’s feeling shitty now, horny and tired. She’s given him some excellent material to use for later thanks to their talk of costumes, and all he really wants is to do is go home, get naked and relieve some of the tension he’s been carrying around all morning. Might be worth leaving the workshop earlier than usual if he can’t get anything done.

Junkrat’s gotten into a habit of working late because he gets so consumed messing about with Overwatch’s modern equipment and plentiful supply of materials that he genuinely loses track of time. Today he struggles to occupy himself, flitting between reading shit on his laptop and toying with different measures of gunpowder for his new and more powerful concussion mines. The workshop is quiet, nobody around to chat with, and when 5pm hits Junkrat puts down his pencil and is surprised to see he’s been idly sketching out a very familiar looking face in his notebook, next to some measurements he’d scratched out and some other shitty doodles.

Jesus. Can’t even escape her in here. Junkrat scribbles it out and closes his laptop, locking it away in his workbench drawer before texting Roadhog to say he’ll meet him out front so they can catch the train home together for a change. He’s had enough of being here now.

The underground is packed with commuters squished in around Roadhog. He’s allowed enough room for Junkrat to stand comfortably though, leaning against the glass partition looking down at the grainy floor under his foot. London trains aren’t very accommodating for his height or Roadhog’s sheer mass, so he’s crouched with half of his weight on his pegleg, something he hasn’t done in a while. Junkrat’s balance and posture has improved loads since he first came here. Her influence, of course.

“Hey,” Roadhog says, nudging him. Junkrat blinks up from where he was staring down at the floor.

“What?”

Roadhog leans in slightly. “You wanna get pizza?”

“Shit,” Junkrat says, a big grin pulling across his face. “I’ll never say no to pizza, mate.”

They stop off at the local takeaway once they’re out of the underground. Junkrat devours a greasy meat feast pizza while Roadhog sits opposite with chicken barbeque and a kebab, splitting a two litre bottle of coke between them. Roadhog is a decent cook and makes dinner for them more often than not, but if Junkrat’s had a bad day he’s quick to suggest getting a takeaway like this. It happens more often than he knows is good for him, but it’s cheap and satisfying, eating healthy the last thing on his mind when he’s sinking his teeth into a mountain of doughy cheese. Even the slight sweat he gets from shovelling down so much meat and dairy feels good, rewarding after a long day of restraining himself.

Junkrat’s phone buzzes on the table. He almost gets excited only to see that they’re notifications for more work emails from Winston, not texts. His mood plummets again just as they finish eating, and after he’s had a brief rant at Roadhog they’re back outside in the cooler evening air, heading home. Today has been a fucking joke, but he knows exactly what to do to alleviate his stress and when Roadhog unlocks the front door of their terraced house he goes straight upstairs to his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him before pulling off his t-shirt. He’s too frustrated to disengage his leg or remove his shorts, just unbuckles and unzips them so they’re loose when he shoves the sheets aside and hauls himself onto his bed.

Grabbing his personal laptop off the floor, Junkrat hunches over it while he brings it out of sleep mode and opens up a browser. He’s got a lot of bookmarks – various porn sites catering to whatever he’s in the mood for at the time – but he forgoes all of them to simply type _blonde slut gets fucked_ in the search bar instead. A wealth of results appear, making his dick throb in his boxers, but he can’t touch himself until he’s gotten something ready, a video he can leave on so he doesn’t have to fuck around with the trackpad using his left hand, which he’s gonna need. He scrolls, scrolls, looking for anything that’s somewhat decent. When he finds a blonde woman with a ponytail he hits play and grips his laptop with his right hand, fishing his rapidly hardening dick out of his boxers with his left and pumping as soon as his skin hits the air.

Fuck, that’s better. Junkrat leans back against the wooden headboard of his bed and grunts, skin sweaty enough that he doesn’t need any lotion, just slides his fingers over the precome and slicks himself with that. He can hear clanging downstairs, Roadhog doing something in the kitchen, so he ups the volume until the tinny moaning drowns it out. Junkrat curves his back to try and get a little more comfortable, but the goal of this is to drain tension rather than enjoy himself at length. He’ll save that for later, spend a bit longer finding something better than this.

The woman in the video is in a schoolgirl outfit, chowing down on some bloke’s dick. Not really his thing, but it’s a costume at least. She doesn’t look anything like Angie, not that any of them ever do, but he wouldn’t want her to anyway, wouldn’t want to see someone who really looks like her being fucked by anyone else. The similarity is enough for Junkrat to picture himself standing over her though, rubbing his cock in her face like that, and he groans imagining Angie’s sweet mouth around him, gazing up at him with those big blue eyes while she sucks him dry.

“Yeah, suck that dick,” he leers, balls tightening as he watches the guy unload in the woman’s mouth. The scene skips immediately to her being fucked raw from behind, camera focused on her cunt as a huge cut dick slides in and out of it. Junkrat is close already from how pent up he’s been all day, pulse hot and cock stiff in his palm as he strokes himself harder, almost angrily, wishing he had something to spank that wasn’t his dick. The woman in this vid is noisy, got an irritating voice, but it’s slutty enough to hit the spot for now, and after watching her pussy get slammed for a few minutes Junkrat groans again when he comes, hips rolling forward as he empties himself all over his bare stomach and chest.

That didn’t take long at all. He huffs out an exhausted breath, muscles relaxing where they were tense. It’s blown off some steam, but not all of it, cock twitching against his abdomen like it’s telling him it still needs more. Even Junkrat can’t go again that quickly, and now he’s got come all over himself. The effort of cleaning up makes it tempting to just leave it there, but he’d only get in more trouble if he dared show up at work tomorrow stinking of spunk.

Junkrat pushes off his laptop and reaches for his shirt, using it as a mop to get most of it off before it starts to dry. He’s relaxed enough to face having a wash, and he peeks out of the doorway to check the corridor for Roadhog before stepping over to the bathroom. Bathing is more trouble than it’s worth most of the time, and Junkrat’s tired when he’s perched on the edge of the bath, metal limbs disengaged while he waits for it fill. Then he’s sighing, temperature so hot the water steams when he’s submerged in it. Since Angie left he’s actually bothered washing a little more often, partly because he knows she’d probably worry if he didn’t, but mostly because he really doesn’t want Tracer coming anywhere near him with a handwipe. He can’t imagine her ever coming that close unless it was to slap him, but still.

As he’s made the effort to run himself a bath, Junkrat lays in it for a long time, dozing as the heat seeps through his skin and into his muscles. He’s clean at least, having given himself a half-hearted once over with a bit of soap. His fingers are wrinkled by the time he gets out but he’s even more relaxed now that his body is dry, limbs reattached and a damp towel wrapped around his hips when he goes downstairs to get a snack. The heavy thunking of his leg echoes inside the house and seems to alert Roadhog, who comes in from the kitchen and confronts him when he’s at the bottom of the stairs.

“Oi,” Junkrat huffs. “Stop blocking the way.”

“You coming down here for a snack?”

Junkrat peeks around his shoulders, trying to edge past.

“Yeah, want some cereal.”

“No bowls left,” Roadhog says. He stays right where he is. Junkrat scowls at him and is about to tell him to get the fuck out of the way when he remembers he’s got at least three bowls in his room, along with a handful of spoons, mugs, and multiple glasses of water he hasn’t finished.

“Can’t be arsed washing them up,” he snaps, trying to push past again. He’ll eat out of the packet if he has to, isn’t in the mood to do any chores. Roadhog folds his arms.

“Then use the fucking dishwasher,” he grunts.

Oh yeah. He forgot they have one of those, prefers to wash up as and when needed rather than fuck around with dishwasher tabs and unloading a bunch of plates and cutlery. He tries to edge past once again, but Roadhog physically shoves him away this time.

“Fucking—fine then, if you’re gonna be such a cunt about it!” Junkrat shouts, turning and storming back upstairs to his bedroom. He whips the towel from around his hips and musses it through his hair before balling it and throwing it on his bed. Can’t even have a snack in his own bloody home without getting told off. Fuck’s sake!

When he counts, there are actually five crusty bowls spread around his room – two on the pile of unwashed laundry, two on the floor by his bed and one on the desk where his computer sits. He’d sooner throw them all in the fucking bin than have to wash them up, but he also really wants some cereal, so Junkrat pulls his boxers back on and snatches them all into one big pile.

“Happy now!” he yells, when he’s slamming the dishwasher shut. Roadhog stands in the doorway when he shoves past.

“If you want to impress her,” he says, “maybe you’d better stop acting like a fucking child.”

Junkrat stills halfway up the stairs. Roadhog doesn’t mention her like this very often. When he does, it makes Junkrat wish he’d never told him, because this is exactly the sort of shit that cuts right through him and Roadhog knows it.

“Thanks mate,” he barks, over his shoulder. “I’ll keep that in mind for when she comes back from Japan and just – miraculously falls right into my fucking arms!”

He can feel Roadhog’s eyes on the back of his head when he stomps up the stairs and slams his door shut again. Doesn’t need Roadhog to remind him he’s being fucking stupid about all of this. Junkrat is well aware that he’s punching way, way above his weight thinking he actually has a chance with her.

_You awake?_

It’s not even 6am over there yet, but he fires it off anyway because texting Angie has been the only good part about today, even if he feels stupid for it now. Junkrat swaps his phone out for his laptop then anyway, needing to unwind by distracting himself with other things. He’s so exhausted that he just sits in bed watching videos until the glare of the screen proves too straining for his tired eyes, pushing his laptop off and swiping at the bedside table for his eyedrops. It’s late now, dark outside and in his room, but he doesn’t have the energy to reach out to put his lamp on, so Junkrat goes back to his phone when he’s put some drops in, remembering the notifications from lunchtime he still hasn’t looked at yet.

Video stories, an invitation to someone’s house party this weekend, and some nudes sent from two girls. Junkrat skips the stories and invitation, dick stirring in his boxers as he looks over the nudes. No faces - just tattoos, tits and pussy. Nice. He’s not even feeling particularly horny anymore but he strokes himself until he’s hard enough to send a few dick pics in return. One of the girls fires back a message afterwards, along with a selfie.

_Hey Rat, guess who’s in Islington tonight ;) you about? x_

Oh. It’s – whatsherface. Kathryn. Katrina? He’s got her down in his contacts as Kat.

 _Yeah lol I’m about  
Where you at? _ Junkrat asks. Her selfie looked like it was taken close to Angel station, under a streetlight.

_Close enough if you’re dtf. You ARE still in Islington aren’t you? x_

_Yeah I’m here haha_

Shit. He remembers now. Junkrat fucked Kat a few weeks ago after meeting her at some club in Camden when he was hammered—remembers bringing her back here and having a go on her for a while before he started feeling sick and asked her to leave. He’s surprised she’s messaged him like this again after that, so she must be pretty keen. His other hook-ups have never shown this much interest afterwards.

_Well if you’ve got those straps on your bed now maybe we could break them in? x_

Junkrat sits up, frowning. She must be _really_ keen if she’s asking about that. He glances around at the straps peeking over the mattress—four cuffs, a simple restraint system he bought off ebay that’s mostly hidden under the bed. He’d just used a bit of rope to tie her wrists together that night.

He's about to reply to her when another text comes through.

 _Morning. :)_   _I’m here now, on the train as usual. Everything okay?_

Oh, great. Now Angie’s awake. Talk about two bloody buses coming in at once. He ignores her and goes back to Kat.

 _Ehhhh I dunno lol,_ Junkrat writes. Now that he’s hard again it wouldn’t take much to persuade him. Could really do with getting some, to be honest, bored of using his hand all the time.

 _Come on Rat it’s been weeks_  
_I see you opening my nudes_  
_Don’t you wanna have some fun? x_

It has been weeks. There’s really no reason to decline this, especially as she’s offering to come here and he still has no idea what Angie’s ETA is for returning home. Isn’t like there’s a guaranteed thing between them aside from one sodding date when she does come back anyway, if she does at all. What’s the use in waiting for someone he isn’t sure even wants him?

_Yeah alright come over_

Junkrat types this out, but when he goes to hit send he hesitates, scowling at the screen.

He’d been drunk enough to bring this girl home with him that evening, yeah. But he’d also been drunk enough to send Angie a message he really, really hadn’t wanted to the same night, and it sort of backfired on him in the best way possible when Angie told him she missed him, too. Junkrat was so desperate for some relief he thought it would be better than nothing at all, but he started to feel awful when he was banging this other girl and hadn’t wanted to admit why.

_Naahh I cba lol sorry_

_Alright well let me know if you change your mind x_

Maybe it is pointless waiting for Angie. Maybe he is being fucking stupid about this. But he felt sick for a reason that night, and Junkrat really doesn’t want to go through that again, so he goes back to his messages with Angie despite the fact that his dick is pitching a tent in his boxers.

_Yeah was just bored wanted to see if you were about :)_

_Aww. Well, I am now,_ Angie writes. It isn’t exactly a _dtf_ or a nude, but it makes him feel just as good, albeit in a different sort of way.

_I also wanted to show you something Hana sent to our group chat last night. Do you recognise it?_

Angie sends over a photo of some plush toy that D.va's holding. She’s standing next to a UFO catcher machine in an arcade. It’s a character Junkrat grew out of liking in his teens but can see why D.va would want that plush of it, as it’s pink and cute.

_Yeah I recognise that lol_

_She sank 3500 yen into the machine trying to get it last night, so I thought it must’ve been quite a special one._

_Whaaaaat hahaha I thought she was good at arcades!!! That’s nuts_

_She said it was causing her a lot of trouble._

_Lol she needs to get good then :P_

Junkrat can’t believe he’s having a conversation about crane games with Angie when he could be balls deep right now. He doesn’t mind though, knowing that the feeling he’d get after being balls deep wouldn’t make it worth it in the first place.

_If it was me, I’d probably spend double that and still be unable to get one!_

_Nahhh you just need to know the tricks lol_

_Ah yes, tricks that I’m sure you’d know. :P_

He wasn’t actually bullshitting her with this. He’s pretty good at crane games, knows there’s a certain knack to the basic claw ones at least.

_As a matter of fact missy I do :P it’s all in how you wiggle the joystick_

_Is it now? ;)_

Oh. Shit, he hadn’t thought that through before sending it. Still, Angie’s response isn’t exactly shutting him down. Junkrat smirks at his phone, suddenly a lot more interested in this conversation than he was two seconds ago.

_Yeah. You want me to walk you through it?_

_I am all ears._

Ohoho. Suddenly Junkrat’s erection is a lot more interested in this conversation, too.

_So you go in there, slide your coin inside, get yourself a couple of plays_

_Is this you or me we’re talking about here?_

_Both. But for now these are YOUR instructions. Junkrat approved instructions  
Fool proof method of getting a prize ;)_

_Okay then, go on._

_Right so when you’ve loaded it up, you gotta give the joystick a little tease  
See how responsive it is_

The dots don’t appear for a while. He knows Angie’s a bit naïve, but there’s no way she won’t get what he’s referring to here.

_You mean, how sensitive it is? How much it moves when touched?_

Ah, there it is. _Now_ she’s playing ball. Junkrat immediately imagines her between his legs seeing for herself how sensitive he is, and shudders. He needs his left hand to text her, though, so he perseveres.

_Yeah exactly, don’t wanna make it go too far too quick after all_

There’s a pause. Junkrat drums his metal fingers over his thigh, waiting.

 _Isn’t there a time limit when you play?_ she writes.

Of course there is, he thinks. There’s always a bloody time limit with you and the only time we get is stolen anyway.

_Okay lol ignore the time limit for now  
So when you know how easily the crane moves based on how much you touch the stick, you’re gonna jerk the stick until the claw is over your prize_

She’s taking her sweet time to reply. Junkrat could probably beat one out right here and now while he waits, but he doesn’t, not yet.

_Are you sure a jerk is necessary? Wouldn’t a gentle touch be better?_

Yeah, Angie would be gentle. Probably nervous. Would need a bit of coaxing, his hand on hers encouraging her to tug harder while he tells her there’s no need to be shy, s’not gonna bite.

 _Depends on how sensitive it is lol_  
_Anyway once you’ve got the claw lined up above, you need to shift all the prongs on it so you’ll get a better grasp of your prize_  
 _To shake the claw enough to do that, you gotta jerk the stick hard. REALLY hard_

_Right, okay. Jerk it nice and hard. Both hands?_

His dick is strained against his boxers, aching to be stroked, but he still resists, only needs a little more.

_Yeah. Both hands. Then you’ll be ready to go_

_What would I do next?_

Get on your hands and knees so I can reward you for being such a good girl, Junkrat thinks.

_Smash the button and wait for your prize to be dispensed ;)_

_What if I miss?_

Jesus Christ, Angie, come on.

_Nah you won’t miss lol you get three tries_

_But if I get it right first time, surely there’s no fun in that, is there? Everyone would be playing and winning._

His eyes narrow. Amazing how such a breathtaking stunner of a woman can be this clueless.

_That’s why I’m only sharing these special tips with you ;)_

_My technique won’t be as good as yours, though._

Junkrat goes to reply to this, but she’s still typing.

_Perhaps you should guide me through it in person?_

Fuck. Okay, that’ll do it. He puts his phone down on the bed and shoves off his boxers. Junkrat kneels over it, naked with his cock out and pulsing from the need to be touched. Is he really gonna do this? Right now? To _this?_

Yeah, he is.

Junkrat grips his dick and starts stroking. He’s impressed by his ability to turn a conversation about UFO catchers with Angie into prime wanking material, but really this is Angie’s fault for riling him up like this despite being five thousand miles away. He pictures being in some Japanese arcade with her, body pressed up against hers from behind while he guides her hand over the joystick. After winning something for her, he’d take her back to their hotel room and get her to practice on his cock instead, her hands all soft and delicate on him until he was fully hard. Junkrat would _love_ to get that milky skin of hers nice and dirty, so he’d push her down and tear off her clothes, grope her with both hands to leave marks, _his_ marks all over her. He’d pull her panties to one side when she’s dirtied up, cunt soaked and ready for him, and he wouldn’t even give her time to beg before he’d be sinking his raw dick into her, watching her arch her back and moan out for him, his good little slut. Then he’d fuck her, hard, make her tits bounce and her cunt clench around him, taking all of him like a champ while he holds her legs around his hips and pounds her into the mattress.

It’s good, but it’s not enough. Junkrat grunts, spreads his thighs wider to pump harder, faster, thinking about that silky voice moaning his name, _oh, Junkrat, please, Junkrat!_ Because she would, he’d fuck her so good she _would_ be begging for him, for him to come inside her, fill her up with his seed. But what Junkrat really, really wants is to pin Angie with his body and have her hands on his face, drawing him down into a kiss. Thinking about that makes him shudder, leaves an ache in him that’s more intense than the need to simply fuck her. Christ, he wants to kiss her so bad. He’s wanted to since he first met her that day in her office, looking so fucking sexy even in that bloody labcoat.

Kissing Angie is the hardest thing to imagine because Junkrat honestly can’t see it happening, can’t see her ever actually wanting him like that. Sex is one thing—he has total confidence in his ability to ruin her—but it’s another to think of her pulling him down and telling him how much she wants him, kissing him while he’s inside her. There’s no way someone like her would ever want someone like him for that, but god, thinking about it has him shivering, hot all over from the idea of being wanted as much as he wants her. Junkrat groans through gritted teeth, stroking his dick dry and craving his mouth on hers, devouring her, claiming her, truly making her _his._

Shit. He came hard. It’s all over the sheets, his phone. Fucking mess. Not on himself this time at least, but he’ll have to sleep on the other side tonight. He’s knackered, entire body so tensed up that he’s boneless now and in need of sleep. But Junkrat wants to say goodnight to her before he does, try and fill some of the gap that’s been left in the aftermath of coming so hard.  
  
_Yeah I’ll definitely show you in person sometime lol_  
_Let’s add that to the list :P_

There’s a slight smear left on the screen from where he rubbed his come off on the sheets. Junkrat frowns at their messages, though. In all the time he was rubbing one out Angie didn’t ask where he’d gone. She’s typing again now, was probably waiting for him to reply. She’s always too polite to text him more than twice in a row. He wishes she wasn’t.

_If we can find any arcades in London, we’ll go._

_Yeah we will. Put that technique into action lol_

He knows she won’t just fall into his arms, not when she’s back or probably ever. But fuck, when Angie makes him feel so good and so bad all at the same time like this, _fuck_ does Junkrat hope she will, somehow.

_Anyway, I’m at HQ now so I need to go. It’s been fun though. ;)_

_Yeah it has lol ;)_

_Sleep well Junkrat. I’ll text you tomorrow x_

_Goodnight Angie have a great day x_

His thumb lingers over the x. He wants to send more than that. Always does. He’d send her a whole fucking page of them if he thought it might make a difference. But it won’t, so he doesn’t. Junkrat just sends one. It’s only ever one in this frustrating, never-ending game they play.

For now, it’ll just have to do.

 

 

*

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to one_irradiated_muppet and Sneepy for providing beta reading and support for this. Please check out OIM's writing here on Ao3 and check out Sneepy's Junkrat blog on tumblr!! http://time-for-mayhem.tumblr.com <3


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